


In Elvish Dream

by errandofmercy



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Elves, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errandofmercy/pseuds/errandofmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir is a dutiful and faithful steward to the Lord of Rivendell. But what he thinks about during his off-hours is his own business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Elvish Dream

Lindir drifted in an Elvish dream. Stars danced in a timeless spiral overhead, a brilliant, soothing canopy festooned miles above his bed. The brisk night air wafted unimpeded through the open architecture of his chambers, but it brought no chill. Though he lay still and expressionless beneath his coverlet, his mind was alight, spinning a familiar tale which provided its own particular warmth.

 

Within the safety of his imagination, there were many places the Elf was free to visit that were forbidden to his waking self. By day, he was as mild-mannered and conventional as the duties of his role and status required. But he gloried privately in these hidden worlds, cherished each tiny alcove and vast adventure concocted by his own mind. They were gifts from himself, from parts of his psyche too deep or enigmatic to fully understand, and though they often puzzled him, they also brought him great pleasure.

 

This night he wandered on a cherished and well-trodden path. His mind had constructed this fantasy with such years of loving intricacy that it now seemed more like a memory than a dream. How Lindir wished it could have been - both the setting and the characters that populated this vision were ever close at hand in the waking world. In fact, only a curtain and a short flight of steps separated his resting chambers from the real counterpart of where his thoughts now transported him.

 

_It was a room of polished marble and patiently tamed wood, at once grand and intimate, its edges softened with tapestries of silk and downy cushions. A scholar’s desk lay in one corner, neatly filled with timeworn books of lore and rolls of well-preserved parchment. The soothing song of the river echoed ever off the domed ceiling like a soft caress. Beneath it, in dream as it was in reality, the Lord of Rivendell slumbered, peacefully or fretfully, or perhaps not at all._

_Lindir’s dreaming eyes painted upon the chamber’s landscape a silhouette of flowing autumnal robes, ribbons of striking dark hair, and a face replete with the lines and shadows of great age and wisdom. It was a face that could be luminous in laughter, or could paralyze with its regal beauty, but too often was darkened by the turmoil of worldly woes. Lindir longed to see it at rest, or better still, transformed in joyful ecstasy._

 

His mind was only too happy to craft its best simulacrum for his pleasure.

_His dreaming self perched at the edge of the bed, unbidden and yet not unwelcome in his lord’s quarters. He smoothed the sheets and studied the faraway gaze upon his lord’s features, frowning slightly even in repose. Reaching out, gentle as windblown grass, he smoothed the lines on his lord’s forehead, banished the evidence of his grief and suffering even if only for a time. He stroked the Elf’s strong, smooth cheekbones, glided over those too-often-pursed lips, caressed the neck that carried such a sharp and tactful head. He ran Elrond’s hair through his fingers, combing it straight or merely pleasing himself in its frictionless softness._

_His lord stirred, not in haste or alarm but with peaceful recognition - he knew that Lindir cast a wide net in his definition of the duties of a steward. A sleepy smile filled his kind face, as rare and tenderly wrought as a mithril circlet. Like a flower turning toward the sun, Elrond blossomed, pulling away his coverlet, opening his heart. Their lips connected with the seamless sweetness of a raindrop merging with a glassy pool..._

Lindir shifted upon his bed. Nay, that was too foolish to stir his blood tonight. Often his mind craved a stronger logic than he was able to contrive; the semblance of reason, the vague thought that his dream might be plausible, made his pleasure all the sweeter. Perhaps Lord Elrond would not be so easily wooed, like a napping child cheerfully roused by the afternoon sun. Perhaps his heart would be heavy, his sleep troubled and fleeting. The Elf rolled onto his side, plummeting deeper into the reverie as another scene coalesced in his thoughts.

 

 _He arrived at the Threshold of Elrond’s chambers to find his lord propped wearily against a cushion, gazing into the light of a sputtering candle. His lord beckoned him to the bed, dark eyes hooded and brow riven with grief._ I miss my wife _, he said in a strange voice that spoke more of vexation than sorrow. A flutter of sympathy beat its wings against Lindir’s belly, reminding him of his lord’s bitter suffering and loneliness. He opened his mouth to offer what condolence he could give, but was struck dumb as he noticed the earnest tightening beneath his Lord’s resplendent robes. Lindir understood at once, and the expression of chagrin upon Elrond’s features confirmed his thoughts. Though he knew he could not rival the tragic beauty of Celebrían, he knew he would have been her equal in his ardent desire to bring Elrond comfort. He hoped she would understand. Lindir cared not that Elrond was not his - in fact, his triumph over grief made Lindir wish to please him even more. In his role of stewardship and service, he was content. He settled himself obediently at Elrond’s feet._

Lindir’s sleeping fingers gathered fistfuls of blankets as his eyelids fluttered. The air was still and windless now, save for his short puffs of breath. It was a good dream, indeed.

 

_With a reverent bow of his head, he watched with a courtier’s patience as Elrond lifted the hem of his robes. His breath quickened as he took in the sight of his lord so vulnerable and bare, and he felt a dizzy flush as Elrond’s hands guided his own to where they were most needed. The Lord of Rivendell was warm and soft as summer twilight, and his sigh of relief at the contact made kindling of Lindir’s blood. They moved together, symbiotic and effortlessly synchronized, each filling with pleasure like rising sap in spring. Lindir curled closer to his lord with each stroke of his hand, until they lay not as master and servant but entwined like lovers. Elrond’s legs wrapped like creeping vines around him, and his ageless body beat upon Lindir’s with the slow steadiness of the surf. Their ardor rose higher, their pace more urgent, until Elrond stiffened and buried his dark head in Lindir’s shoulder. As he shuddered his release, the relief in his low cry pushed Lindir over the precipice as well, and his spending burst from him, clothed and untouched though he was. Both lay clutching each other like wet leaves in the wind, until the flame relented._

_At last, his lord’s breathing slowed and his grasping hands rose to stroke Lindir’s cheek and hair with grateful affection. A smile played upon his lips, and Lindir’s heart was more glad of it than he had been at his own unexpected pleasure. But instead of sending him gently back to his rooms, Elrond drew him closer, ensconcing him like a babe in silken robes and sweet words. He closed his eyes, reveling in their mingled breath and matching heartbeats, and sleep slowly overtook him…_

Lindir sat up, dazed, and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Upon the gnarled balcony of his chambers perched the squat form of a bird, framed by the first purple rays of dawn. Its robust, chirruping song must have woken him. He shifted his leg and felt a stab of recognition as a familiar, sticky dampness clung to his skin. Blood still pounded in his ears, and he allowed himself a secret smile as his softening flesh returned to its ordinary state. He felt refreshed; it had been a night well spent, and the day ahead would be rosy with pleasant memories, sweet upon his heart no matter how fanciful they had been.

 

He rose and stretched, allowing propriety and duty to fall over his features once more. He would have to change the bedding before the sun rose further and the keepers of the house could see his handiwork. After that, he would begin the litany of daily tasks that awaited him. It was a good life, and he was grateful for the peace and prosperity he had known in Elrond's service. His unspoken yearnings seemed of little consequence in the light of day. Soon enough, Lord Elrond would rise, and Lindir, as ever, would take his cherished place at his lord’s side.

 

 


End file.
